


Stand

by scarletjedi



Series: quiobi week 18 [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: BDSM themes, Fake/Pretend Relationship, It's For a Case, M/M, Qui-Gon Lives, Qui-Gon is a Toppy Bastard, not quite a case fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 16:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15295683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: It had to be Quinlan Vos.





	Stand

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the 2018 QuiObi Week. I didn't make the deadline. 
> 
> Many thanks to Kettish for helping me conceive, write, and edit this fic!

It had to be Quinlan Vos. 

Qui-Gon had nothing against the knight, per say. Over the years, he had proven himself a talented and dedicated knight, raising the skilled Aalya Secura to knighthood. Raising a padawan had tempered much of the impulsiveness and recklessness that had been present in him as a padawan himself. 

Much. Not all. 

“He wants you to do what?” Qui-Gon asked, staring up at his partner of the past ten years from his seat at their kitchen table. 

“Go undercover with him,” Obi-Wan said, calmly sipping his tea. “There are rumors of a trafficking ring operating out of The Stardust.” The Stardust Resort and Casino was a luxury resort, popular among couples for romantic retreats, and any sentient who could afford a few days away from work after a bit of saving. As the largest casino outside of Hutt space, it was a very busy place: that sentients were going missing there was distressing but ultimately unsurprising. 

“I have the utmost faith in your abilities, and I am sure that is why Knight Vos chose you.” 

“Quinlan chose me because he enjoys making me uncomfortable,” Obi-Wan countered, dry. “Though your confidence in me is heartening.” 

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows and waited. There was a reason for Obi-Wan’s heads up. After a moment, Obi-Wan sighed and sat. 

“It’s _Quinlan_ ,” Obi-Wan emphasized. “Trouble follows him—”

“You get followed by your own share of trouble,” Qui-Gon said. 

“...and _therefore_ it will follow us,” Obi-Wan continued, narrowing his eyes. “I would appreciate if you came along as backup. Just in case.” 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow and Obi-Wan pressed on. “Mace has already approved it. If things go according to plan, the worst thing to happen is you getting that vacation he’s been threatening you with.” 

The Force was nudging him to accept. Somehow, he didn’t think it was to sit on the beach with Obi-Wan. 

“When do we leave?”

* * *

Obi-Wan left the next day, still pink and ruffled at the early hour, to catch a transport to Sullust, where Quinlan was waiting. They would then head together to Stardust, once their cover was established. Qui-Gon, in the meanwhile, had only twenty-four hours to review the casefile before he left directly for Stardust, to be already ensconced when Obi-Wan and Quinlan arrived. 

Whole those two had the obvious cover of being a pair of honeymooning newlyweds, Qui-Gon was a low-level career bureaucrat, cashing in on his bonus for some well-deserved rest and relaxation in the casino. He had a deeper eye than he had pockets - and easy enough mark to be ignored, or at least underestimated. 

But, it would let him be where they were and keep a weather eye. Ultimately, he had the Force, and his lightsaber would never be far from reach. 

He had no reason to worry. 

Still, his nerves found him fiddling with his hair as he read over the mission notes, only years of training keeping him from chewing mindlessly on the strands. 

The case was simple. Human and humanoid sentients were going missing. There wasn’t much linking the victims aside from relative age (a despicably young nine-years standard to thirty-two, depending on species), but they were of all genders, creeds, and walks of life. The second link was discovered through Quinlan’s own special abilities: The Stardust Resort and Casino. Each and every one of them had some link: though, to be fair, there was a large portion of the galaxy that could provide a direct link to the establishment. But, it was all they had. 

As a couple, Quinlan and Obi-Wan wouldn’t be quite the target demographic of the victim pool, but they would be largely ignored as they snooped around — and Qui-Gon, with his wrinkles and grey-streaked hair, would be practically invisible. 

And, dressed in civilian togs as he boarded his transport, it was not something to be upset about.

* * *

Stardust was, if Qui-Gon had to define it, “affordable opulence.” It was just high-end enough to dazzle the bulk of the lower-middle class guests — while saving the true luxury for those with the credits. It traded, first, on _fantasy._

So, when Qui-Gon checked into his room, he found it clean, well made, and softer than his rooms at the Temple. The ‘fresher was made with warm marble tile, ad the finishings were shining ultrium. 

If Qui-Gon hadn’t experience with the wealth of the senate district, or been the guest of royalty across the galaxy, or even been the apprentice of Yan Dooku, it would easily have been the most richly furnished room he had ever been in. 

But, he had been, so he could see where the metal was plated, and the marble was imitation. 

THe bed, however, was a true marvel: large enough for three-average sized humanoids, easily. Qui-Gon felt a pang as he lowered his bag. All that bed, and Obi-Wan was with _Quinlan Vos_. 

Releasing his frustration, Qui-Gon grabbed his room key and went to take the lay of the land. Time to make “Corbin Antilles” a part of the scenery.

* * *

Obi-Wan and Quinlan arrived two days later. In that time, Qui-Gon had established himself as a terrible craps player (lie), a decent Sabacc player (understatement), and somewhat enamored with the credit slots (truer than he would like to admit). It was easy to gamble when the Force could guide him to a likely outcome, but it wouldn’t due to be accused to cheating and get ousted from the establishment. Or worse. 

Besides, his “favorite” slot machine had the best sightlines of the floor, so that was where Qui-Gon was sitting when the “newlyweds” staggered into the Casino — and he nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw them. Him. Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan had shaved his beard.

He had grown it, initially, as a desperate effort to be taken more seriously outside of the order as his bare cheeks made him look younger than he was. It had been almost ten years since Qui-Gon had seen Obi-Wan willingly barefaced. 

Force, but he still looked nineteen. 

It was deliberate, it had to be, but it still sent a knot of complicated emotion rolling in Qui-Gon’s gut, and he stared as they crossed the floor, seemingly taking in the sights. They were, he knew, familiarizing themselves with the layout, the faces, the rhythm of the room —

But Obi-Wan was tucked up against Quinlan’s side, whispering in his ear, and Quinlan’s hand rested possessively low on Obi-Wan’s hip. 

Jealousy reared suddenly, nearly choking, and Qui-Gon had to focus on the machine in front of him to control his breathing. It’s a cover. Obi-Wan is not leaving you for Quinlan. 

Let it go, old fool. Let it go. 

When Qui-Gon was able to look, he saw Obi-Wan watching him unerringly. Through their bond, Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s amusement and affection before it shut down again, a necessity. 

Then, Obi-Wan turned into Quinlan once more, running his fingers over his hair, the way he did when Qui-Gon was being broody. It wasn’t until Obi-Wan peeked at him, coy and _cheeky_ that he realized wheat Obi-Wan was doing. 

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. He was _trying_ to make him jealous, and it was _working_. Qui-Gon sent a wave of his frustration and lust and was gratified to see Obi-Wan shiver... and Quinlan look at Obi-Wan in surprise before he began to laugh. 

Sitting back, Qui-Gon smiled. Time to move. Perhaps he would take a shot at the races.

* * *

And so a pattern developed. Qui-Gon would watch, Obi-Wan would flirt, and Quinlan would laugh at them both. What didn’t develop, however, was any lead of evidence of the trafficking ring. Their cover would be up at the end of the week if they didn’t produce some results, and it was setting them all on edge. 

So, when Obi-Wan appeared at Qui-Gon’s room past midnight, Qui-Gon didn’t question — he simply dragged Obi-Wan across the threshold. 

Obi-Wan went willingly, laughing even, the cheeky sod, and regarded him though heavy-lidded eyes. Qui-Gon let his eyes feast. Dressed in civilian clothes, Obi-Wan barely looked like himself; his pants were tight, tighter than their uniforms, and the blue of of his shirt made his eyes stand out, disarmingly. All the build up of the last few days - the looks, the deliberate tease — had Qui-Gon on a razor’s edge.

“Don’t look so smug,” he growled, and pressed Obi-Wan up against the wall next to the door, pinning him in place with his hand splayed across the front of his shirt. Obi-Wan wore it loose, open nearly to his navel, and the warmth of his skin was nearly a brand against Qui-Gon’s palm. 

“Give me a reason,” Obi-Wan countered, lifting his chin in challenge — or maybe in invitation, as it bared the long, pale line of his throat, shaved bare and enticingly tanned. Qui-Gon raised his other hand and pushed the edge of Obi-Wan’s shirt back with a single finger, looking for the edge where tan gave way to familiar pale. 

There was none. 

Qui-Gon swallowed past a suddenly dry mouth, and met Obi-Wan’s eyes. He shivered, but otherwise didn’t move as Qui-Gon reached down to undo his belt, undoing the catch with a flick of his thumb, and easing the two sides apart. It fell to the floor with a heavy _thunk_ , and Obi-Wan’s breath caught at the sound. 

His hand dragging along body-warm fabric, Qui-Gon reached for the first tie that held the shirt in place. It came loose with a single tug, the front panel falling open. Qui-Gon switched his hands, eyes locked with Obi-Wan as his fingers skimmed across his side to undo the second tie, opening the shirt completely. He pressed his hand along the warm skin of Obi-Wan’s side, fingers clenching rhythmically with his breath. 

Obi-Wan’s mouth had fallen open, his lips shining wetly in the low light of the room, an open invitation, but Qui-Gon held back, standing far too close, touching but not enough, not nearly enough. 

“Qui-” Obi-Wan breathed, breaking first, and Qui-Gon moved, spinning him with the Force and gripping the back of his shirt and stripping it off of him and casting it aside before pressing him back chest-first against the wall with a hand placed firmly on the back of his head. 

Obi-Wan’s hands had lifted while he spun, and they were pressed now flat to the wall on either side of his face, his fingertips gripping at the slick surface, but he didn’t try to fight back. He waited, calm save for the intensity of his breathing. 

His back was tanned as well, an unbroken golden tone beneath a cascade of freckles that disappeared into the waistband of his pants. Qui-Gon ran a finger down the length of Obi-Wan’s spine, dipping beneath the tight material, and tugged slightly to peek. Here, too, the tan continued until it disappeared into shadow. He growled, and Obi-Wan shivered, arching his back to press his hips back into Qui-Gon’s hand. 

Qui-Gon pressed more firmly against Obi-Wan’s head, enough to make a point but stopping just shy of pain, and Obi-Wan’s fingers slid down the wall a fraction before he stilled and Qui-Gon eased back. 

Still, with Obi-Wan’s hips back, it gave Qui-Gon the room to step close, press himself against Obi-Wan. He rolled his hips, pressing his hard cock against the curve of Obi-Wan’s backside, and let the rhythm take him for a moment, the friction both a relief and a goad. A choked-off sound emerged, and he forced himself to stop. It was harder than he had anticipated, but perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the last few days. 

Reaching around, Qui-Gon found the fastenings on Obi-Wan’s pants, undoing them quickly and stepping back only far enough to let them drop to the floor — and stopped. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t wearing underclothes, which, in and itself wasn’t uncommon, but it displayed a clear lack of tan line that made something hot flare in Qui-Gon’s chest as his mind’s eye filled with images of Obi-Wan stripped bare in full daylight. 

Qui-Gon palmed the curve Obi-Wan’s hip, moving his fingers as if he could feel the difference, but felt only smooth, warm skin. He gripped more tightly, spreading gently, and felt it like a blow to the chest when he saw the glint of metal between Obi-Wan’s cheeks. 

A soft chuckle broke his focus, and he looked up to see Obi-Wan smiling at him from the corner of his eye. “I didn’t think you’d want to wait,” he said with a tone like a shrug, as if it was everyday that he surprised Qui-Gon, fully prepped, plugged, and waiting. 

“How long?” Qui-Gon said, and nearly didn’t recognize his own voice in that deep rasp. He ran his thumb over the metal, pushing slightly, and Obi-Wan gasped, pressing back when Qui-Gon let up. “How. Long.” Qui-Gon said again, more urgent, and Obi-Wan finally answered. 

 

“Before dinner,” he said, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes. He had been in the bar that night, placed to watch Obi-Wan and Quinlan as they ate. It had been an extended meal, the perfect display of a couple prepared to linger over sensual experiences, and Qui-Gon had found himself having to stretch his drink further than he would have liked. 

But, come to think of it, Obi-Wan had been more restless than usual, leaning forward in his seat as if more interested in Quinlan than in the food. At the time, Qui-Gon had put it up to the act, the lovebird’s honeymoon, but to know that it was because of _this_ , that he had been thinking of _Qui-Gon_ \--

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Qui-Gon said, forcing his voice to be steady. There was nothing he could do for the way it rumbled, or the way Obi-Wan whimpered and squirmed. “Then, I’m going to take you to bed, and fuck you again, and when I’m done — and only when I’m done, — I’m going to stuff this plug back inside and send you back to _him_ filled with my come.” 

Obi-Wan moaned, loud and low, and Qui-Gon reached out a hand, calling to his hand the small bottle of lube that lived in his pack. “Open,” he ordered, and Obi-Wan opened his mouth so that Qui-Gon could place the bottle inside. “Hold.” Obi-Wan blinked once, deliberately, and Qui-Gon reached down to undo his own pants, not bothering with the rest of his clothes. 

They would have time for that later. 

He pulled his cock free, running his hand loosely along his length briefly before he reached for the bottle between Obi-Wan’s lips. “Open.” He took the bottle, warmed from the heat of Obi-Wan’s mouth, and drizzled a thin stream along his length, and the put the capped bottle back, closing his eyes against Obi-Wan’s muffled moan. 

Looking down, he considered the angle, and stepped back, releasing his head to pull Obi-Wan by the hips. Obi-Wan staggered for a moment, but shuffled back, bracing against the wall with both hands, holding himself up on his toes and a wavering control with the Force. 

Licking his lips, Qui-Gon pinched the small silver cap of the plug and rocked it shallowly as Obi-Wan head dropped. He trembled when Qui-Gon finally gripped it firmly and drew it from Obi-Wan, watching as his skin stretched obscenely around the widest part, the lube still on the plug leaving a glistening sheen around his rim. 

Qui-Gon sent the plug drifting over to the table beside the bed -- they would need it later — and indulged himself by sinking three fingers into Obi-Wan’s hole. 

Obi-Wan cried out, biting down around the bottle to keep it in place, but Qui-Gon encountered no real resistance, no indication that he couldn’t just fuck Obi-Wan. The thought of his love taking the time to prepare himself this thoroughly, sweating and shaking as he always did, was all it took. 

Grabbing himself firmly, Qui-Gon lined up his cock and thrust into Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan screamed, and Qui-Gon could feel the joy and lust that sound carried as he adjusted his grip and set a punishing pace, letting his body chase his pleasure, trusting his knowledge of his lover’s body to keep his aim true. 

Scrambling for purchase on the slick wall, Obi-Wan struggled to keep the angle steady, to keep Qui-Gon’s cock rubbing over that spot inside him that made him jump and twist and loose himself to the pleasures of the moment. He was a sight: tanned skin flushed red down from his shoulders and up from his bottom, sweat glistening at his temples, down the curve of his back.

He wasn’t going to last long, Qui-Gon knew. Neither of them were. It had been too long, they were too close, too worked up — so he didn’t try to make this last. 

“Come for me,” he growled, his accent thickened to something just left of the Core and Obi-Wan’s mouth went slack, the bottle falling unnoticed to the carpet. “You will come for me,” Qui-Gon said again. “Untouched and desperate for my cock, filling you up—”

Obi-Wan keened, his knees giving way as he came, jerking. Qui-Gon held him fast in place, his thrusts never ceasing even as Obi-Wan shuddered around him, drawing out his love’s pleasure until Obi-Wan was able to gain his legs once again, oversensitive and moaning.

Qui-Gon reached forward and gripped his hair, pulling his head back and Obi-Wan arched into it, a single word passing his lips, a whispered plea. 

“Please.” 

How could Qui-Gon deny him, when he asked so nicely. One, two, three thrusts and Qui-Gon felt his body draw tight and release in a golden incandescence as he came at last, emptying himself into Obi-Wan as his lover whispered his approval.

Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan upright, arms wrapped around his torso, his cock still buried inside. He was still fully dressed, and suddenly that was intolerable. It took some doing, and Obi-Wan began to laugh at him halfway through, but Qui-Gon managed to rid himself of his shirt and his pants without ever fully letting Obi-Wan go. 

“Perhaps I should take other missions more often, if you get this touchy,” Obi-Wan mused, idly, grin wide when Qui-Gon just gripped him tighter. 

“Get on the bed,” Qui-Gon ordered through grit teeth, taking the hint to back away, and Obi-Wan, laughing did just that, pausing only to fully remove his boots and pants. He crawled across the bedspread, and Qui-gon had been right: the bed was perfect for lovers. He stalked forward to Obi-Wan’s delight. 

They would prove it.

* * *

Of course, when Obi-Wan went missing the next morning, somewhere between Qui-Gon’s room and his own, they found all the evidence they needed of sentient trafficking, drugs, and smuggling, blowing the entire operation — and nearly the entire station — wide open.

* * *

A week later, Obi-Wan was sitting on their couch, scratching his itching cheek as his beard slowly regrew. The last of his bandages had come off that morning, and the healers had cleared him for duty, effective tomorrow. 

He smiled up at Qui-Gon when he passed him a cup of tea. “Thank you, love,” Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon sat on the couch next to him, raising his arm to let Obi-Wan curl into his side. 

“I never asked,” Qui-Gon said, running his thumb along Obi-Wan’s elbow. “What happened to the plug?” He had most certainly left Qui-Gon’s rooms with it, but when they had gotten Obi-Wan back, it had been nowhere to be seen. 

“I took it out,” Obi-Wan said dryly. “I had a moment when I woke from the drugs before they came for me when I was alone and, well.” He shrugged, and Qui-Gon held him closer. “It went out an airlock, I’m pretty sure.” 

“Quick thinking,” Qui-Gon said. “Though it’s a shame: it was a nice plug.” 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “You’ll just have to get me a nicer one,” he said. Qui-Gon thought of the box on his bedside table, that he had purchased the last night before Obi-Wan had been released from the Med Center. 

“I think I can do that.”


End file.
